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SSIBo EDU WHIT 9 © 
DEDICATION SERMON 



DISCOURSE, 

DELIVERED AT 

THE BIBSOAtEOI 

OF THE 

IN BROADWAY, NEW- YORK. 

BY 

THE REV. ORVILLE DEWEY, 

PASTOR OF SAID CHURCH. 




NEW-YORK : 
Stationers' Hall Press, 245 Pearl • street. 



1839. 



DISCOURSE 



Psalm xciii. 5. 

Holiness becometh thine house, O Lord, for ever. 

" Holiness." No place, however sacred — no oc- 
casion, however interesting, can be so great, as the 
principle which consecrates it. Holiness becometh 
thine house, O Lord, for ever. 

When I think of this spiritual consecration, all 
outward adornments, decent rites, visible prosperity 
— the thronged gates and the gathering of a multi- 
tude, sink to nothing before me, and I feel that the 
great and sacred intent for which we have built this 
structure, could make any place sacred and sublime. 
Nay, my brethren, I can well conceive of circum- 
stances in which loneliness, and desertion, and danger, 
would ennoble and endear to us, a scene like this. 
If this, instead of being a temple of prosperous 
worship, were the altar of a forlorn hope ; if we 
were met here to-day, to pledge a lofty and solemn 
fidelity to a rejected and scorned faith ; if this were 
the cave or the catacomb, to which the early Chris- 
tians stole in silence and darkness; greater and 
dearer might it be to us, than this fair sanctuary. 
Better than cushioned seats and painted walls, might 
be the ragged stone or the cold sarcophagus on 
which they leaned; and sweeter than chant or 
anthem, the stern and deep-toned voice of their great 
resolve. 

I speak thus, my brethren, not to praise goodly 



4 



temples the less, but to praise sanctity and solemn 
intent, the more. Meet it is, that the temples of a 
nation's worship, should be goodly and fair. I can- 
not think that this is the only point at which liber- 
ality is to pause, and expense to be carefully re- 
stricted. Every large city in the country, is each 
year lavishing upon luxuries, entertainments, spec- 
tacles — upon things that 'perish with the passing 
year — enough to build ten noble churches; and 
every town and village is doing the same thing in its 
proportion. Now surely, if there is any thing for 
which a people should be willing even to strain their 
resources somewhat, it is to do that well, which is 
to be done but once in the course of some hundred 
years ; to bestow some unusual care and expense on 
that, which is to be associated with religious ideas, 
and in that important relation, to be viewed with 
pleasure or disgust, by the eyes of passing genera- 
tions. 

Architecture is a language, as truly as sculpture 
and painting — nay, as truly as literature, as poetry. 
The front of a majestic and beautiful church is 
known and read of all men. The stranger, the 
gazer, the passer by, though he read nothing else, 
reads that. And there are religious edifices in the 
world, whose effect in elevating the mind, cannot be 
transcended by any painting or statue, by any poem 
or eloquent discourse. And suppose that such poem 
or discourse could be so depicted as to be set up in 
•an enduring form, and to make an instant and in- 
evitable impression, by the very way side where 
multitudes and generations are walking. Would it 
not be a goodly work to place it there 1 Would not 
the very idea, the bare possibility of it, awaken the 



5 



utmost enthusiasm? But a magnificent piece of 
architecture is such a poem — is such a discourse. 
Insomuch that I will venture to say, and I say it 
advisedly and deliberately, that I should value as 
much, in any city or town, the effect of the York 
Minster in England, as of that great work of Eng- 
land's sublimest bard — "the Paradise Lost." He 
who gazes upon such a structure, is melted, enrap- 
tured, overwhelmed, with delight and veneration ; he 
feels as he does when he gazes upon the sublime 
objects of nature. And to place a majestic cathedral 
in one of our cities — would that it might yet be done 
here ! — would be, as if you could place the loftiest 
mountain of the Alps in its neighborhood, to bear up 
the thoughts of its inhabitants to sublimity, to beauty, 
to heaven ! 

A church too, is more than a work of art; it is 
a symbol. It is a symbol of religion ; a visible 
sign and setting forth of the religious sentiment. 
Churches are the outward consecration of our cities, 
of our villages, of our country, of the world. They 
are visible tokens of the invisible ; they lead the 
thoughts to the unseen and infinite. Their rising 
towers, their pointed spires, recognize a communica- 
tion between earth and heaven. They are like the 
ladder which Jacob saw in vision, on which the 
angels of God were ascending and descending ; and 
he who pauses beneath them in the sacred hours, to 
meditate and pray, is sometimes led to exclaim, 
with the ancient patriarch, "how dreadful is this 
place ! this is none other than the house of God ; this 
is the gate of heaven ! " What would a city or a 
village be, even in appearance, even to the passing 
traveller, without churches !— a city of habitations 



6 



and warehouses, and houses of entertainment for the 
way-faring man, and houses of pleasure for the gay, 
but without one structure to recognize the sense of 
devotion and of duty 1 Would not the very traveller 
hasten, for his life, from such a city, as the city of 
destruction ? And what a striking testimony is it, to 
the universal sense of some kind of religion, that one 
such city was never found in the world ! 

Man is ever struggling upward to something above 
and beyond him. I do not say that he is always 
making the right moral effort; but that his thought, 
his mind, his feeling, never satisfied with the earth, 
soars, instinctively soars, away from it — even though 
he scarcely knows whither. But, my brethren, do 
not we know where our thoughts soar ? Have we 
not a purpose in this erection? Do we not feel that 
we have need of such a place of resort? We know 
that the lights of heaven are often obscured by 
earthly mists, and we build here a tower of observa- 
tion, where we may come up and gaze upon their 
unclouded brightness. We know that the waves of 
our earthly fortunes and experiences, roll in wild and 
fearful commotion around us, and we build here a 
Pharos, a light-house, to guide us upon the dark and 
stormy sea. And long as that lofty tower stands, 
may it bear the blessed light of guidance and hope 
to us and our children ! 

We have departed from the custom of our 
Churches, by giving this structure a name. We 
denominate it, the Church of the Messiah. We did 
not w r ish that it should bear down to future times a 
sectarian title, or that its name should change with 
successive pastors. We are sensible that it will 
often be called by these names, and we pretend not 



7 



to force a name upon any one ; though the Congre- 
gation have unanimously adopted the one now de- 
signated. But we hope that in process of time it 
will come to bear this title in familiar usage. We 
hope that this name— one permanent name — a name 
most sacred, will become venerable and hoary, 
through the associations of coming years and the 
attachment of succeeding generations. At the same 
time, we do not lay aside our denomination as a re- 
ligious society. We are " The Second Congrega- 
tional Unitarian Society," worshipping in the Church 
of the Messiah. 

II. I have thus spoken in general, of the con- 
secration of this place, to the great sentiment of 
religion. But this naturally leads us to something 
more specific ; in other words, to the distinct views 
and uses which have been contemplated in the erec- 
tion of this building. 

Let me then say, that our main desire and purpose 
is, to consecrate this place of worship, not to any 
extraordinary novelties ; not to any strange and sin- 
gular opinions ; not to any controversial dogmas ; not 
to any vain presumption that we alone, on all points 
are right, and that others, on all points, are wrong. 
We would consecrate this church, not to pride of 
opinion, but to modesty and humility ; not to as- 
surance, but to inquiry ; not to any unbecoming 
claim of infallibility, but to the great principle of 
religious progress. We stand here on a humble spot, 
upon a vast globe, which is yet itself, but a humble 
spot amidst the infinitude of worlds and systems— 
and here, in the morning twilight of our being, we 
build an altar to lowly seeking and earnest prayer 
for light; we build an altar not only to the truth 



8 



which we do know, but the truth which we hope to 
know. Yet none the less do we build it, to the truth 
which we do know. To the old, the primal, the 
time-hallowed truths of all religion; to the elder 
faith of Christians, — sanctified by their prayers and 
sealed with their blood ; to the common, so far as it 
is the most heartfelt, faith of all Christians now, do 
we dedicate this temple. To the unity of the faith 
in the bond of peace, do we dedicate it ; to one God, 
the Father ; to one Saviour, Jesus Christ ; to one 
Divine Spirit, sent to enlighten, sanctify and save us ; 
to the faith of a divine revelation, and of an uni- 
versal and kind providence ; to the boundless grace 
of God in the Gospel, to the instruction of mankind 
in righteousness, to their redemption from sin, and to 
the hope of everlasting life. Above all, and em- 
phatically, do we dedicate this Church to the cross 
of Christ. We call it after the name of the great 
Messiah. We dedicate it to his cross. That symbol, 
if the act would not be misunderstood, would I 
gladly see raised high, above the tower of this con- 
secrated building. It is the distinctive symbol of our 
salvation. In that cross, to my eyes, shine most 
brightly, the mercy of God and the hope of man. 
In saying this, I intend to say nothing blindly or 
mysteriously. Out of mystery into reality, would I 
bring that great sacrifice ; out of a vague and inef- 
fectual reliance, into a distinct and living sympathy ; 
out of theory, into practice ; out of the study into 
the heart. I utter no professional dictum, when I 
say, that I hold the heartfelt knowledge of what that 
cross meanetb, to be the dearest knowledge on earth. 
Truly and deeply, and in a sense not yet enough 
understood, it is saving knowledge. The Catholic 



0 



worships that cross. I too would have it wor- 
shipped; but it should not be the worshipping of a 
mere symbol, nor of the mere agony that it sets 
forth. It should be the ''worship of sorrow," en- 
deared by its patience ; it should be the worship of 
divine meekness, of victorious humiliation, of all- 
conquering forgiveness, of all-consummating self- 
sacrifice. It is a worship, which, if I could put it 
into the heart of any worldly and self-indulgent 
being, would make him a new and a happy creature. 
Before that cross, were it rightly revered and wor- 
shipped, all worldly pride and vain glory would sink 
to the dust; all Christian virtues would spring up — 
amidst tears, amidst penitence, amidst self-renuncia- 
tion, they should spring up — fair and beautiful like 
the life and the love of Jesus. By this sign should 
men conquer — not as Constantine conquered; the 
world's very ambition should then be conquered, 
won, redeemed to the service of God ; and the paths 
— the till now w 7 eary and darkened paths of earth — 
should be bright and happy, I had almost said, as the 
regions of heaven ! 

You will not suppose, I trust, that I wish you to 
infer from what I have now said, that the liberty of 
explaining Christianity which every body of believers 
claim for themselves, is to be denied to us. We 
have our explanation ; and not denying that others 
have it in part, yet of such price do I hold it, that it 
involves, in my estimation, almost the entire value of 
Christianity itself. But there is not space here, and 
now is not the time, when I wish to go into minute 
explanations. We look upon these walls in which 
we trust that the worship of centuries is to be cele- 
brated—of centuries in whose growing light we 
2 



10 



believe that many a glaring and fiery dispute of 
present times, will fade away — and our thoughts are 
not of controversy. We are thinking rather of that 
uncon trover ted and venerable Christianity, which, 
through this durable monument, we wish to bequeath 
to them that shall come after us. We rejoice that 
not by the breath of words only, which die in the 
utterance, but through these massive walls, our mind, 
our purpose, our desire, shall stand declared. I lay 
my hand upon this pulpit — this altar-place of our 
prayer — and from that dim future of some distant 
century, comes one, now unborn and unknown, and 
lays his hand upon it ; and we speak to him and to 
the brethren yet to stand here with him. We tell 
them of our care, while in life, for the precious cause 
of religion and virtue ; we tell them that we thought 
of our children and of our children's children ; we 
commit to them, in sacred trust, that blessed religion 
in which alone the generations of mankind can be 
blessed and conducted to heaven ; we invoke upon 
them, through the flight of years, the mercy of that 
God who " showeth mercy to thousands of them that 
love him and keep his commandments." 

III. But beyond the views which I have presented 
to you, of the general consecration of this Church, 
and of the doctrinal principles and prospects to which 
it is devoted, there is another point, which I could 
not satisfy myself on this occasion, without bringing 
more distinctly before you. 

This Church is especially dedicated to practical 
religion — to a religion that has the most intimate 
connection with our daily life and welfare. 

The relation of the pulpit to the surrounding world 
— that which consecrates it to human welfare — is a 



11 



topic not only appropriate to the present occasion, 
but one which deserves on all occasions, as I humbly 
conceive, to be more deeply considered than it has 
been. With this then, let me occupy the few remain- 
ing moments of our present meditation. 

And here let me observe, that in what I may at- 
tempt to say of the relation of the pulpit to human 
welfare, I shall assume for the basis of my remarks, 
no particular creed. It appears to me, that whatever 
my creed might be, I should still pursue the same 
general course in my preaching ; and I have no doubt 
that every creed exhibits, more or less, an example of 
the kind of ministration which I shall advocate. 

We must all admit that the pulpit is designed to 
promote human well-being. If this be not the de- 
sign, no construction nor instrument on earth, was 
ever so completely without a purpose. The very 
plough in the furrow were more sacred, than the 
pulpit, which never cultivates the field of the world. 

But what is human welfare 7 And where is it ? 
And how is it to be promoted? These are the ques- 
tions that ascertain the true province, the true sanc- 
tity of the pulpit. 

What is human welfare ? It is the intrinsic char- 
acter of a man. It is the inward principle that 
governs him continually. It is piety towards God, 
and fidelity towards men. It is purity in the heart, 
and virtue in the life. It is penitence, submission, 
faith. It is temperance, moderation, calmness, cheer- 
fulness. It is love, gentleness, goodness of heart. 
It is to be freed from the distractions of passion, from 
the pains of a violated conscience, and from the 
agony of hopeless despair. It is, in one word, an 
accordance, sincere and heartfelt, with the Gospel 



12 



of Christ. This only is true welfare. I know that 
there is a controversy, ever going on in the human 
heart on this question. But this is what the pulpit 
teaches. And when it teaches this, it takes its stand 
on the ground of eternal truth and everlasting expe- 
rience. The ingenuity of the human heart may be 
for ever employed in gainsaying this position — but it 
will for ever be employed in vain. 

But where is this welfare to be found? Is it not 
wherever a man is? — in the house, and by the way — 
at home and abroad : — in the warehouse and on the 
mart — in the street where he walks, and in the 
society to which he resorts — in labor and recreation 
— amidst wealth and poverty — in all conditions 
which God has ordained for his discipline and im- 
provement ? In all these, he is seeking some satis- 
fying good ; and amidst them he must find it, or 
nowhere. That is to say, he must find it where he 
is continually. I must beg you to pardon the tru- 
ism ; for really many are thinking that they are to 
obtain the chief good, only in places where they are 
seldom found. I say therefore, that a man is to find 
his essential, his spiritual welfare there, where he 
habitually is — not in the church nor in the closet 
only, but amidst the very care, business, strife and 
turmoil of life. Yes, he must find the true relief in 
that care, the true integrity in that business, the true 
self-government in that strife, and the true calmness 
in that turmoil. 

Now to this end, and to this emphatically, all pul- 
pits and all churches are, or should be, consecrated — 
consecrated as instruments to that end. And let me 
tell you, that there is not one erection in this city 
that more nearly concerns the actual and varied life 



13 



that men are every day living; — no, not your courts 
of justice nor your schools — no, not your houses nor 
your warehouses. For in all these you are seeking 
that which is beyond them all — that which they all 
cannot give — that to which they are all instru- 
mental — happiness. And here, in this consecrated 
place, is taught the only principle that can compass 
that great and ultimate aim. Whether we have yet 
learnt this truth : I do not say : but this, I say, we 
must learn. This truth, I see every day around me, 
and never any where more than in this very city. 
Let the whole great world become your minister — - 
let it bring tribute to you, from every clime and from 
every mine, and from every wave of the sea, and 
from every treasure-house of luxury and abundance; 
and without the aid of the right inward principle, it 
will only heap up to you, incentives to pride, and 
means of indulgence, or at the best, only cares and 
vexations and vanities. I know this, for I see it. 
How little calm is there, in life around us ! How little 
soul-sufficing satisfaction ! On every hand is rest- 
less seeking ; on every hand, ill-suppressed complaint. 
Here and there indeed, is the true calm, the true 
satisfaction ; yet it is nowhere but in the heart whose 
inmost and dearest life, is love, purity, faith. I see 
too, that all which the ministering world can offer, is 
transient, phenomenal, vanishing away. Calamity 
comes down like an avalanche upon our gathered 
stores; or bereavement makes the full house void 
and desolate ; and then there is no stay for us but 
that inward principle, which can look through all, to 
the love of God, and the hope of eternity ! 

My friends, these with me, are not mere words 
of course. From this imputation above all things 



14 



would I rescue this pulpit. If I believed that this 
pulpit must utter certain things as a matter of 
course, which as a matter of course, and no other- 
wise, are to be received ; if I believed that it must 
stand thus isolated, that it must have a language of 
its own, that the very truths it utters are to be 
truths nowhere else, I would never have entered it. 
I would never stand here, a mere automaton preach- 
er — to beat the air — to pour forth words, which 
should only be reverberated from these walls, and 
whose effect, like the echoes that return to me, 
should die away at my feet : to declare doctrines on 
which there should be a sedulous attendance to-day, 
and, to-morrow, no more to do with them, than if 
they were uttered in a dream. I cannot consent to 
spend my life in such a formal, such a merely spectral 
ministration. I would rather take my stand by the 
way-side, or in the suburban groves where Aristotle 
and Socrates walked and discoursed ; or become a 
lecturer — that noble calling of these modern times — 
in Lyceums and Library Associations. 

But the more material question remains — how is 
the pulpit to minister to human welfare? On this 
subject, I must confine myself to two or three ob- 
servations out of the many that present their claims 
to attention. 

In the first place, then, the pulpit, in its ministra- 
tion, must be at once comprehensive and practical. 
It should embrace every thing that belongs to the 
moral and religious welfare of society; it should 
show that it intimately understands every thing ; it 
should assume, what I have maintained in general, 
that its province is, practically to deal with every 
thing. Let me say a word more distinctlv of this 



15 



comprehensiveness of view. It is true that the pulpit 
holds its own proper place in relation to human im- 
provement. It is not a chair of philosophy, nor the 
porch of the academy, nor a studio of art. But it is 
nevertheless to acknowledge its connection with these 
ministrations, and in a modest and liberal spirit, to 
take its place among them. It is to assume no air 
of loftiness but that which its theme gives it. It is 
no more a place of decisions and oracles than any 
other, where the human mind is the interpreter. It 
is not God that speaks here, save as he speaks every 
where ; but it is a fallible man. 

But particularly in regard to its comprehensive- 
ness, let me ask, if it is not often left to be felt that 
the pulpit does not recognize much that belongs to 
the moral interest and grandeur of life ? Does it not 
coldly stand aside, or aloof, from the ardor of youth- 
ful affections, from the gushings of enthusiasm, from 
the pangs of the neglected and forlorn, from the 
infirmity and weariness of the beaten path of life 1 
Are not men left to feel that the pulpit does not con- 
sider them — does not know them, in many of their 
most interesting emotions? The moral essay, the 
theological disquisition — what has that to do, with 
the empassioned fervor which swells the human heart 
almost to bursting? The parent does not often enough 
consider that, in his child ; he does not often enough 
consider the tears that fill the eye ; the feelings that 
thrill that young heart. But still less does the pulpit 
consider all this, in those who surround it. That 
band of human hearts should be like an electric 
chain to it. How many things, dear and lovely, are 
passing upon earth, and passing away from it, that 
should come to us here ! — the lineaments of mortal 



16 



love fading away into heaven — the holy hand of 
maternal tenderness, laid upon the innocent forehead 
— the clasp of affection, that could die for its object — 
the calm and resolved brow, that is ready to sacrifice 
fortune, fame, life itself for its dear integrity — the 
sense of all things beautiful, and brave, and heroic, 
breathing in literature, in poetry, in the marble and 
on the canvass, and thrilling through the heart of the 
world! — yet does one thrill of all this touch the cold 
and stately pulpit? 

Again ; the pulpit must be practical. Its business 
is with actual, conscious, instant life, or it is nothing ; 
or nothing but a barren negation of all true power. I 
confess that this practical end of Christianity is of 
such absorbing interest to me, that I am not able, and 
I do not think that I ever shall be able, to discourse 
much to you on controverted doctrines. They should 
be discussed, indeed ; but for many reasons, I think 
that the printed page, and not the pulpit, is the place 
for them. Other things press upon me here. I see 
that men are chiefly erring, mistaking and falling 
into misery and ruin, on far other than doctrinal 
grounds. And while I see this — while I see that 
actual life is the very sphere of salvation or perdi- 
tion to them, I cannot be for ever drawing the lines 
of metaphysical distinction, that never cross the path 
of life. I cannot weave about religion the wire- 
drawn meshes of a speculative creed. I cannot set 
it forth, w r eighed down under the cumbrous drapery 
of scholastic times. I must deal with it as clothed 
with the flexible and familiar garments of modern 
and real life. That heavy costume brought from the 
middle ages to invest modern religion, seems to me 
fitted only to crush and to kill it. Or if it leaves 



17 



any life, it leaves only a maimed, pained, burthened, 
and shackled Christian life. It may be called the 
armor of safety, the garment of salvation. But I 
cannot account so, of what I call salvation. This 
great achievement is to be wrought out through free, 
energetic, spiritual action. It is to be wrought out, 
in the midst of life, and by the effect of life. It is 
not a church business, but a world business. The 
church is built for teaching, not for doing. It is built, 
doubtless, for excitement to doing ; and for doing 
itself, if you please ; but only for so much of the work 
as can be legitimately accomplished, within the time 
that is passed in it. To think to do it all up, here, 
is fatal to the end. It is treason to the designs of 
providence. Life — life, I repeat, is the stage, the 
field, the battle-field, where the good fight is to be 
fought, and the glorious victory to be won. What 
is the religion worth, that springs up, and lives, and 
dies, here 1 What sort of a Christian is he, of whose 
Christianity, nothing but church-walls and church- 
meetings ever see any thing ? Nay, and what do 
church-meetings see of such a man's Christianity, 
when his temper is tried or his interest touched ? I 
am afraid to tell you what they see. But this at least, 
I am impelled to say, as I look at the effects of an 
isolated Christianity — I say, my friends, that I am 
afraid of churches ; I am afraid of church peculi- 
arity ; I am afraid of every thing that is shut up 
within church walls, with which common principles 
and common opinions are thought to have nothing to 
do. I am shocked at the pride, passion and insin- 
cerity, that can grow up in such places, when cut 
off from the world. I fear that in some respects the 
religious morale falls below the social morale of the 
3 



18 



country. There may be less of gross vice admitted 
into it ; but how is it, with evil speaking, oppression, 
duplicity, and breaches of good manners ? There are 
things said and done in religious bodies, which, I fear, 
can scarcely have any good report among honorable 
men in the world. It avails very little that men in 
such circumstances call one another, brethren. It 
availed very little to Abner in the ancient story, that 
Joab " spake to him quietly," and while doing so, 
" smote him under the fifth rib." 

Official persons and bodies are always liable to 
err, just in proportion as they set at defiance public 
opinion ; and therefore in this country, religious per- 
sons and bodies are, of all, the most exposed. 
Preachers are constantly saying in the pulpit, what 
they would never venture to say any where else. 
They utter denunciations, nowhere else to be en- 
dured. Or when the pastoral bond is broken — bro- 
ken for good cause, perhaps — broken at least very 
willingly — then both pastor and people utter com- 
mendations to one another, in their official capacity, 
which every body knows to be insincere. And 
why? Because it was a religious connection! 
A distinguished clergyman # said ten years ago, 
and printed the declaration, that the General As- 
sembly of the Church of Scotland was the most 
unprincipled court in Christendom. I do not pre- 
tend to decide whether this was true. But if it 
were true, why was it % Because it was a Chris- 
tian Assembly ! It is because the Church thinks 
itself entitled to stand aloof from the judgment 
of all mankind. This presumption, I hold, must 



'* Andrew Thompson. 



19 



be broken down ; these battlements of pretension 
must be levelled with the dust. The Church is 
not an imperium in imperio — an empire by itself. Re- 
ligion is a ministration to the world — not a defiance 
of its scrutiny. The Church is to be the handmaid 
of general freedom, virtue, happiness ; and not to lord 
it over that great heritage. It is this fatal separation 
from every thing else, that has caused almost all 
churches and pulpits in the world, to fall behind the 
civilization of the age — behind its knowledge, sci- 
ence, liberty, and general liberality. The light that 
is in the world, is not suffered to penetrate through 
these Church barriers. Where in the general re- 
cognized, classical literature of the world, do you find 
any bigotry, any religious fanaticism, any narrow 
technicality of faith ? All these are shut up in the 
dark fastnesses of exclusion. I hold that religion is, 
not only out of its place, but that it is not safe 
in those fastnesses; any more than it is in monas- 
teries, or in the dungeons of the Inquisition. There 
is no safety for a right principle in girdling walls, 
though they be built as high as heaven; there is no 
safety ; but only the more danger. There is nothing 
but the severe, scrutinizing, searching watchfulness 
of all mankind, that can keep any thing safe : any 
institution, any government, religious or political. 
To this, all human interests are now irrecoverably 
committed. And to this, all religious interests, if 
they be human, must be committed. 

Do I say then, that the Church is a mere worldly 
institution, destined to take its fate with all other 
worldly institutions, having no pledge from heaven 
for its protection and perpetuity ? These things I do 
not say. I say that the Church is a religious insti- 
tution, having the pledge of its continuance in its 



20 



own eternal principles, and in the power of Almighty 
God — not in the wisdom or device of this man or that 
man — of this body or that body. But I say too that 
it is a religious institution for the benefit of the 
world. And therefore I insist that it ought to stand 
in the presence of the world — in the open day-light 
of the world ; that its proceedings, its principles, its 
creeds, must bear universal scrutiny ; that God hath 
appointed no man, neither priest nor pope, to be the 
unquestioned expositor of his truth ; that all men 
should be allowed, without threat or frown, freely to 
judge for themselves. If not — if men will have it 
otherwise — if they will strive to maintain an unlaw- 
ful Church ascendency ; if they think by warning or 
intimidation to keep out inquiry, or to keep in ac- 
quiescence, they know not the age they live in. It 
is not what I say or do, or another man says or does, 
that is material here ; the matter, be sure, has got 
quite out of our hands. Churches may be builded 
or burnt— congregations may rise or decline — names, 
sects, may stand or fall — I care not ; with reference 
to the progress of truth, to the essential modifica- 
tion of existing opinions, I care not. A hundred 
liberal churches in this or a kindred country, may be 
burnt or beaten down — it would not disturb me a 
moment. In the great heart of the world lie the 
causes of progress; in spreading freedom, in the 
spirit of literature, in the growth of knowledge, in 
the divine elements of truth itself. Churches may set 
themselves against this progress ; they may build up 
new barriers and battlements against it ; but it is in 
vain. The age is passing by them, and they will yet 
stand, if they stand at all, like the dismantled towers 
of the feudal ages— monuments of times that have 
passed away. 



21 



I have dwelt longer than I intended, on the com- 
prehensive and practical character implied in the 
true consecration of the pulpit to human welfare, 
and must compress within a few words, the further 
views which I wished to submit to you, of its appro- 
priate mode of action and influence. 

With respect^ then — with love — and with sympathy, 
should the pulpit address the people. He who does 
not feel these sentiments towards mankind, should 
find some other organ of communication with them 
than the pulpit. He may imitate the poetry of 
Byron, or adopt the cold philosophy of Hobbes, or 
select for his weapon, the blighting satire of Voltaire ; 
but to him belongs not the gentle and solemn min- 
istration of the Gospel. I advocate no soft effeminacy 
in the pulpit ; no lax complaisance towards human 
nature; no weak sympathy for it, that compromises 
any lofty principle. That, indeed, were both scorn 
and cruelty towards it. Let the pulpit be bold. Let 
it clothe itself with indignation against sin. I would 
see more than I ever yet saw, in the pulpit, of that 
honest and manly indignation. Let its law be strict, 
and its scrutiny piercing, 

— " the tent that searches, 

To th' bottom of the worst." 

But in all this, there is nothing inconsistent with the 
sentiments which I advocate. I respect, whom I 
warn. I love, whom I would recover ; I sympathise 
with him, that I would save. From the bosom of 
these affections proceeds the only true fidelity ; and 
not one of them can be spared. Whose voice, to 
recall from wandering, so powerful as the parents' ? 
And why"? Because, it is with mingled respect and 



22 



love and sympathy that he speaks to his erring child. 
Let one of these be wanting ; and he might as well 
speak to the dead ; he can do nothing. 

The pulpit in this respect must conform to the 
great laws of human nature. And this principle I 
do not set forth, as demanded by policy, but by truth. 
The human heart is entitled to respect. Amidst all 
its debasement, there are in it, solemn monitions and 
mementos of better things to be recognized. I can- 
not fling Scorn upon its awful depths. I cannot with 
rude blows, strike the guilty heart. The fallen 
throne that human hands have built — the shattered 
tower that beetles in sublime desolation over the land 
that it once ruled, must not draw from me a venera- 
tion, that I will not give to the mournful and moni- 
tory ruins of humanity. And if that ruined greatness 
of a human soul casts its dark shadow over the 
world unknown — if there is before me, a being who 
may sink to hell, bearing with him — more than the 
wreck of an empire — bearing the world of his affec- 
tions with him, down to woe and agony ; it is not 
with slight and scorn, but with awe, with a horror 
of reverence, that I must look upon him, and speak 
to him. 

Nor yet from our love as well as our respect, is an 
erring nature shut out. It is written that " God so 
loved the world, that he gave his Son to die for it." 
I cannot help feeling as if that love of God, paternal 
and pitying, takes the part of its poor, erring child, 
against the cruelty, and contempt, and misanthropy 
of his fellows. Men hate us. God loves us. Men 
denounce us. God loves us. Men tread us under 
foot, or pass us by. God still loves us. Men, some- 
times with seeming satisfaction, doom us to hell. 



23 



God yet loves us ; and gave his Son to die for us ; that 
he may raise us to heaven. Thou who art most 
fallen, forlorn, neglected ! remember that. Remem- 
ber that there is one that loves thee— thy Father 
above, who can never hate thee. All other love may 
fail thee; yet shall that love never fail thee. For 
thus is the comparison set forth. " Can a mother for- 
get her child ? Yea, she may forget ; yet will not I 
forget thee." 

Finally; sympathy should flow out in all the min- 
istrations of the pulpit. I see this pulpit, not as a 
piece of carved work — not as clothed with crimson 
and gay adorning : but 1 see it, and feel it, as softened 
and clothed all over with human sympathies. It is 
the altar of respectful, friendly and affectionate com- 
munings ; and is to give living expression to all, that 
pertains to sacred, human fellowship. In this respect, 
among all public situations, it stands alone in the 
world ; and if it fails in this point, it will be wanting 
in the true consecration to human improvement and 
welfare. 

The fortunes of men — the fates of a human life, 
seem to me to be but rarely contemplated in the light 
in which they should ever present themselves in this 
sacred desk. In the great field of human probation, 
there are no clergy and laity, no learned and ignorant, 
no rich and poor : there is a destiny for all, in whose 
presence the varying circumtances that clothe this 
life, are but the modes and fashions of an hour ! And 
it offends me when I see any man making a parade of 
coming down — either to bestow a charity, or to do 
a kindness called patronage, or to teach the people. 
He has to go up, if he would understand it, to reach 
the sublimity of his vocation. He has to go up, if he 



24 



would feel the true and enlarged sympathy of hu- 
manity. It is through the want of this true sympathy 
that many offices are now base, which with it, might 
be high as heaven, and beautiful as the ministration of 
angels. It seems to be rare that we find any man 
great enough to be a man — a breathing soul, of the 
great humanity — and not being able to be a man, 
what does he become ? He becomes a minister, con- 
scious of power and influence ; or a nobleman, con- 
scious of rank ; or a rich man, of wealth ; or a cele- 
brated man, of fame. The real sinks into the phe- 
nomenal ; the man becomes a mode ; and life, intense, 
all powerful life, is but a fashion of living. 

There is a greatness in this life beyond all that is 
called greatness. All earthly seeking — all business, 
care, weariness, and strife — is but the clothing of a 
deeper want — the heaven-sent need of virtue — of the 
happiness whose essence virtue is. That want, 
whether it pierces the world with its cry, or struggles 
in smothered silence, is the grand index of all human 
fortunes. Reality lives beneath all that is visible, 
wrestles amidst the turbulent passions, and heaves in 
the bosom of this world's restless tumult. In those 
depths of life, is conscience, empassioned yearning, con- 
scious destiny ; and from those dark fountains, flow 
out tears, sorrows and sighings. 

To communings with such a life, my brethren, is the 
pulpit consecrated. The thousand ties that bind that 
spiritual life, meet — it is an awful thought — meet, as it 
were, in the pulpit. And here it is that we are to touch 
those chords, that shall send thrilling into the depths 
of reality. Must not this ministration then, be a living 
sympathy ? Such was it to the heart of Jesus. If 
God is represented to us as all-embracing love ; so 



25 



is Jesus emphatically, as all-embracing' sympathy. 
Though sinless, he sympathized with the sinful. In 
that feeling he lived and taught, he suffered and died. 
And in so far as we can imitate him, that great ex- 
ample should be the model of all who preach his re- 
ligion. 

To such a ministration be this pulpit dedicated ! All 
life will pass before it here ; for no shadow of conse- 
crated walls can drive out from any bosom, the spirit 
that is in it. All life shall come here, and here it 
should be recognized — the gladness and beauty of youth 
— the swelling heart of manhood—the cares and anxie- 
ties of fathers and mothers : — Young men and maidens, 
old men and children, shall be here ; and all that life is— 
whether it is passed amidst joy or sorrow, amidst 
thrilling strains of music or " the solemn brood of care," 
amidst the gaiety of assemblies, or in the solitariness 
of reflection — amidst troops of happy friends, or by 
the desolate hearth of the bereaved and stricken one 
— all must mingle itself with the meditations of his 
holy place. 

Yes, my brethen, I know whence ye shall come, 
and whither in a few days more, ye shall go. From 
the noise of busy streets, or from the bustle of crowd- 
ed marts, ye will come ; or perhaps from the surgings 
and soundings on, of the majestic, melancholy sea ; 
from the din of manufactories, or from the tedious hum 
of school-rooms, or from the litigations of courts, or 
from the sighs of pain by the sick bed, or from the 
many-voiced utterances — questions, commands, child- 
ren's cries, sounds undefmable — of domestic abodes ; 
and will ye not ask for a calm hour, for a clear atmos- 
phere, for the vision and comfort of things divine ? God 
grant that ye may ever find them here ! 

4 



26 



And I know whither, ere long, ye shall go. The 
day will come, when other eyes than ours, will look 
upon these walls, and upon these crowded streets. It 
is but a little time — and the last sound of our footsteps 
will have died away from these pavements ; the last 
shadow of our form shall have passed from this 
threshold ; and the places that know us, shall know 
us no more for ever. 

But, thanks be to God ! no dark despair, no over- 
whelming sorrow, mingles with these thoughts. When 
another generation shall fill and crowd the places 
where we now live — the walls within which we this 
day worship ; our humble hope, and our trust, is, that 
we shall dwell in some loftier sphere, and wait the 
coming of those beloved ones to join us. 6 4 In an 
house not made with hands eternal in the heavens," 
may we say eternally — " blessing, and honor, and glory, 
and power, be unto Him that sitteth on the throne, and 
to the Lamb for ever and ever ! " 



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